Paper Tiger
by WargishBoromirFan
Summary: Boromir's fame is rising, but at what cost? Dol Amroth has been razed, and Denethor knows it is only the beginning. Part of the Den Fin Files.


A/N: Tolkien's characters, save for Culromegond, who was inspired by a certain other clerk of another fandom. Nevermind the morphic twin behind the curtain... Inspired by the 50lyricsfanfic challenge on LJ.

* * *

I stared at the report before me, but my mind was not upon the number of fruit-bearing trees Belfalas had lost in the fires and the resultant shortages. Not entirely. Words out of context combined with the heat of the fireplace, memories with the smell of smoke from the partially blocked chimney. (Must remember to have that cleaned out; it won't do to be smelling constantly of ash.) It was not the time for such things, but if my manservant was to be believed, this was not an hour best given to paperwork, either. 

Culromegond was young and eager, but even he had retreated some hours ago, leaving me to the mountain of beaucractic busywork and the vagaries of my own imagination. That suited me well enough. The enthusiastic young man was ever looking over my shoulder, trying to discern if he could be of any help to me. All too often, though, this did nothing more than remind me of others who keenly sook out their duty to lord and country. Culromegond was nearsighted, flatfooted, and fussy enough that no captain would ever wish the boy upon his worst enemy's patrol. My sons, however, suffered from no such inconveniences.

Boromir, especially, had shown nothing but prowess upon the battlefield. His captain had already promoted him to second-in-command of his company, and letters arrived home suggesting that perhaps twenty-six was not too young, after all, for a field general…

I told them I would consider it. It is not that I am jealous of my command, for I have not been able to personally lead the troops since Finduilas died. There was simply too much to be done in the White City; meeting nobles, settling disputes, considering our trading policies, and always, _always _there was paperwork. Since my father died, even the army has been reduced to little more than so many figures upon yet another ledger in my sights. I have other ways of seeing them, of course, but those methods do not encourage me to put my sons to greater risk.

I glanced towards the fireplace, closed my eyes, and let the phantom afterimages dance across the insides of my heavy lids for a moment. Yes, there were other ways to learn of a burning orchard than in a field report… My hand reached automatically for a globe that was not there. It was of no matter; the heat of the fire warmed my palms after the same fashion. I needn't wrestle him for it again tonight; I just needed the clarity that came while preparing for such a battle. In bits and pieces, the last images came back.

It seemed a whole forest had been set ablaze; ashen stumps huddling together for comfort against the heat of the flames. Every now and again, the winds had been merciful: scorching only half a tree here, another stunted sapling left amazingly green against the browns of its luckier neighbors and the gray of the ground. No one had come to stop the fires, though; the Corsairs had seen to that. Like some Leithe-day bonfire gone mad, the orchard had been left to burn itself out.

Those trees are the but the first ones to burn, though. The other images were as yet merely his dark desires, but from my first visit to the Palace, had I not seen myself how easy it would be to set a spy within the deepest confines of Dol Amroth? Had I not personally observed how unguarded the prince and his family seemed from potential threats?

I opened my eyes; unable to tolerate the mental pictures dredged up by my imagination and memory any longer. Sitting at my desk before the fire, skimming through field reports, it seemed there was so very little I could do to counter the Dark Lord's plans. Imrahil placed little stock in any personal warnings I might offer him. He has enough of the blood of Numenor within him that he would not dismiss my counsel entirely, but his airy optimism masks a stubborn pride that is not so different from my own. He is convinced that he can defend himself, his wife, and their children. I was once so deluded.

I set the report aside, and turned once more to the pile of letters from Boromir's superiors. … _A pride of my company … Raised our hopes … Bold and uncanny … _My captain-general, I am convinced, takes very much after his uncle.


End file.
